


you are my safe house

by zinabug



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Cooking, Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Some angst, jon steals martins clothes, making places feel like home, safe house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22869286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinabug/pseuds/zinabug
Summary: a series of one-shots about Jon and Marin and the safe house, in the form of domestic fluff with occasional angst. lots of cuddling, probably.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 2
Kudos: 103





	1. Jon can't cook to save his soul

Martin woke up to the sound of Jon yelling from the kitchen.  
He immediately started and tried to get out of bed, only to get tangled in the sheet and fall onto the floor. He tried to pull himself up with the bedside table and slipped on the sheet again before pulling himself up and running into the kitchen trailing bedsheets.  
Jon was on his hands a knees picking up burned scraps of… something off the floor and putting them back in a pan that was also on the floor next to him.  
“Are you okay?” Martin panted, trying to untangle his foot from the blankets. Jon was wearing Martin’s bathrobe over a hoodie and a pair of Martin’s pajama pants.  
“I was making breakfast.” Jon picked up a scrap of burned food and sighed at it. “The neighbor you talked to yesterday knocked on the door at six in the morning and gave us a dozen eggs and some fresh vegetables.”  
Martin walked over and helped Jon up. “I’ll finish sweeping up this. You start hot water, okay?”  
Jon sighed. “I know I can’t cook, Martin. Sorry.” He took the kettle to the sink to fill it up.  
“Yes, well I can.”  
Martin found the broom and swept up the mess of burned eggs while Jon set the table.  
It was very hard not to look at him while he did, scruffy as he was. Random chunks of his shoulder length graying hair was pinned back with paper clips and hair clips he found in the bathroom cabinet. His glasses were cracked badly and he fiddled with the beads on the glasses chain with his scarred hand. Martin’s bathrobe was at least four sizes to big on his skinny frame and he had the sleeves rolled up, but they kept flopping over his hands.  
Martin added butter to the pan and watched it melt Before he added the eggs.  
Jon walked over. “You add butter first?”  
Martin gave him a helpless look. “Have you ever cooked anything before?”  
“I can make soup really well, thank you very much. My grandmother liked it so I learned how and made it quite a bit.”  
The butter was sizzling and Martin cracked one egg into the pan. “You put butter in so the egg doesn’t sick to the pan, as well as for flavor. Here.” He handed Jon the other egg. “You put one in.”  
Jon cracked the egg messily on the edge of the pan before putting it in, along with some bits of shell. He looked up at Martin, who sighed and scooped out the shell bits with half of his eggshell.  
Martin could tell that he was blushing. Jon was so very close to him. He instantly missed his presence next to him as Jon went to put two slices of bread in the toaster.  
“Do we have any bacon left?” Martin asked.  
Jon walked over to the fridge and handed him half a packet of bacon. Martin set it on the counter before turning off the heat on the stove and walking over to the table and putting an egg on each plate.  
Jon sat down on the table to watch Martin cook bacon until the kettle whistled or the toast popped.  
The sun shone against Martin’s hair making it almost transparent. It had turned white after the lonely; a scar, but at least a beautiful one. He hadn’t put on his glasses yet and was dressed in the same wrinkled button up as yesterday. Jon thought that he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.  
The teakettle started to whistle and Jon got up to turn it off at the same time as the toast popped up.  
“Lots of—”  
“Lots of butter for you, I know.”  
Jon turned off the heat under the kettle and started buttering toast for them. Lots of butter for Martin, a little for him. He would leave the hot water for Martin to make the tea.  
The first time Martin made Jon a cup of tea in the archive, he had walked into the break room to find Jon microwaving a cup of water for tea. Martin had gone on a rant for what felt like ages to Jon, while making him a cup of “proper” tea. Jon had argued at first, but quickly gave up and sat there in silence while Martin made him the best cup of tea he’d ever had.  
Martin was humming quietly while he cooked. Jon pulled two of the chipped and faded mugs from the cabinet and set them on the counter. He took the toast and put it on their plates before sitting back down to watch martin cook.  
Martin paused in the cooking to turn and smile at Jon, in the small quiet way you smile at someone you care about very much when you notice them like it’s the first time again. Jon was blushing now, as he looked away and down at his feet. He was pretty sure the sock on his left foot belonged to Martin. It had little cartoon cows on it. He carefully tucked that foot under his other one before looking back at Martin. He was facing away, his ears very red. On his right foot was a sock with cartoon cows on it.  
Jon’s face felt very hot as he looked away back at Martin’s hair. The white tangle of curls illuminated in the sun, the tiny ringlets resting on the back of his neck. Jon very badly wanted to put his hands in it, spiral curls around his fingers.  
“It’s done!”  
Jon started out of his thoughts to see Martin turning around holding the frying pan. He was smiling, still blushing.  
“Oh- yes, wonderful.”  
Martin grabbed a pot holder and placed it down on the table before setting the pan down. “You can serve yourself while I make the tea.”  
Jon took a single strip out of the pan and put it on his plate. He didn’t particularly like bacon, but Martin had made it, and that changed everything.  
The tea, of course, was perfect. Jon got up and opened the window slightly, just to let a bit of a breeze in, and the two of them sat in comfortable silence and ate their food.  
Neither of them could name the exact moment when they realized they were holding hands, but they were, and it felt right. Neither of them let go.


	2. blurry polaroids & frog cookie jars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin has decided that the safe house also needs to be homelike as well as a safe place to huddle in terror. Jon isn't sure what to do with this plan. they have limited resources.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to be updating on weekends, as soon as I finish the next section.

“There.”

Martin stepped back from the wall where he had finished taping up the last photo. Several polaroids of cows, a blurry picture of Jon sitting cross legged on the table, a photo of half of daisy’s face that was in the box with the camera they had found in the closet and a picture of the Admiral that Jon had in his wallet.

Jon sighed heavily. “Yes, just like home. A blurry photo of Daisy’s forehead and me on the table reading a statement in my- well, in your pajamas.”

“I’m trying! It’s not like you put a photo album in all of that stuff you shoved in your bag.”

Jon blushed. A lot of random things had shown up in his bag.

Martin had gotten it in his head that the safe house needed to be more homelike. He had brought it up the night before, when Jon was more then half asleep with his face mashed between Martin’s shoulder blades. He just sleepily agreed to whatever Martin said. Now Martin was putting up pictures and talking about going down to the village and getting paint, and curtains, and maybe wind chimes.

Daisy’s safe house was built for survival, not comfort. A bed and pile of blankets, dishes, lots of non-perishable foods, lots of stashes of weapons and bare wooden floor sand whte walls. There were, however, a few random things making it slightly more homelike. Daisy had a guitar leaned up against one corner, flowered curtains on one window in the kitchen and a messy watercolor of a field of sheep taped to the bedroom ceiling, as well as the camera they had found.

“We need to go down to the village again anyway to get more food. I don’t want to be stuck with rice and instant potatoes for dinner again.” Martin pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted at Jon. “you may want to brush your hair first though.”

Jon lightly patted the top of his head. “I did brush my hair.”

“You need a haircut.”

“I know I need a haircut.”

“You also need a good meal and a more comfortable place to huddle in terror. Let’s go down to the village.”

* * *

It was a good day for walking, at least. The two of them wandered along the winding path down towards the village, walking in comfortable silence. They passed the neighbor’s field where she kept her cows, pausing for Martin to take another picture of them, and continued on. Martin was humming quietly while he walked, occasionally looking over when Jon would smack a loose rock aside with his cane and watch it bounce into the grass.

The village only had one grocery store, and then a secondhand store, and then a store for everything else as well. The two of them came every couple days, and the villagers had taken quite a bit to get used to them. Martin alone was far from normal, and the first time he brought Jon with him Jon had been mostly wrapped in a giant shawl and hiding under Martin’s elbow.

The two of them wandered into the village. Jon started heading for the grocery store, but Martin grabbed his arm.

“We need to buy things for the house first,” he said.

Jon rolled his eyes, but it was Martin, so they walked into the secondhand shop. They had never been there together before. Martin had gone in once to buy them both some more clothes - he had intended to just get himself more clothes, but Jon stole most of them.

He did remember two rugs rolled up against one wall, and a couple shelves of the random decor items secondhand shops tend to accumulate over the ages. Jon picked up a cookie jar shaped like a frog and raised an eyebrow at Martin, who was looking at a basket of faded quilts and sheets. He held one of them up, made of pale blue and yellow squares. “We could hang this over the couch,” he said.

Jon wordlessly handed him the frog cookie jar and his whole face lit up.

“This is perfect!” he gently set it down on the floor next to him. “Is there anything else over there?”

Jon shrugged, trying to act like he didn’t know or care, but Martin’s excitement was starting to rub off on him. He wandered back over to the shelf.

Suddenly, there was a flash of static behind his eyes and garbled whispers rushing through his head. He dropped to his knees and covered his eyes with both hands.

“Jon? Jon!” Martin had both hands on his shoulders, holding his wrists, slightly shaking him.

A voice blasted through Jon’s brain. “ ** _LOOK UNDER THE SHELF!_** ”

And it was gone.

“Jon!” He slowly lowered his hands to see Martin, very upset.

“Oh thank god.” Martin leaned forwards and kissed his forehead. “Are you okay? That- that hasn’t happened…” he looked around the shop, before whispering. “Since the lonely?”

Jon nodded, and started to try to stand up.

Martin pushed him back down. “Sit. what did you see?”

“The beholding told me to look under the shelf.”

Martin laughed, a laugh of more pain and surprise then happiness. “Well, I suppose I should do that then.”

“I can-”

“No, you say there.”

Martin crouched to look under the shelf. “Here. oh wow, there’s actually a lot of stuff under here.” He pulled out a small framed painting, a glass vase, and two throw pillows and placed them on the floor between the two of them. Martin looked up to Jon’s face, made eye contact, and they both immediately burst into laughter.

“This- this isn't even funny.” Martin gasped. “You-your nose is bleeding again and the beholding- it’s still here- but it told you how to find a throw pillow.”

“I think we have to buy this stuff now.” Jon said, wiping his face. His nose normally only started bleeding when he channeled the beholding to an extreme point, not when it suddenly had the need to give him a decorative throw pillow.

* * *

They left the shop leaving behind a concerned and confused shopkeep and carrying with them the frog cookie jar, the quilt, one of the carpets and the things they had found under the shelf.

“We don’t really need to get food, do we?” Jon said. Martin looked over at him.

His bright green eyes, a thing Martin hadn’t quite gotten used to yet since they had first opened again after the coma, were shining faintly behind his glasses. He was Seeing again.

“No, we don’t” Martin said quietly.

“You were just trying to drag me down here to do this, weren’t you.”

“Yeah…”

“Good.”

On the walk back, they picked flowers for their new vase. When the two of them stopped for a break, Martin took a picture of Jon with flowers in his hair. His eyes were closed, and he was smiling.

Back at the house Martin made dinner and they put the pillows and quilt on the couch, the rug on the bedroom floor and the vase and cookie jar on the mantel. Martin told Jon that he would teach him how to bake so they could put something in the jar, and that they should get a tablecloth and some curtains while Jon peacefully dozed against his arm. 


	3. haircut lads yearn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon needs a haircut. Jon also needs affection.

Martin thinks Jon needs a haircut. Jon knows he needs a haircut. 

His hair has never bothered him before. He just washed it and got it cut, the same thing every time, until he didn’t cut it anymore. It had gone from being neat and curly to long and as straight as he had ever seen it. 

He had started using paper clips to keep it out of his face after Prentiss attacked, when it had started getting in his face. When he was staying with Georgie she gave him a haircut, but it didn’t go super well and was still long. At least she had proper hair clips. 

Then he was in a coma for six months. Six months without a haircut. There were several times after he woke up, when he had no time to get it cut, where he put it in a bun or ponytail to keep it out of the way. 

The last straw came when he got his hair caught in one of the kitchen cabinets. 

“MARTIN!”

Jon ran into the bedroom, where Martin was folding laundry, and shoved a sheathed knife into his hands.

“What do I do with this?” Martin asked. 

“Cut my hair!” Jon was still almost yelling. “It’s in my face, it got stuck in the door, it's driving me insane!” 

“With a knife?”

“Daisy doesn’t have scissors! Just another three knives in the kitchen drawer!”

“Okay,” Martin moved three of Jon’s (his) shirts off his lap and stood up. “You need to get a chair and a towel that I can put around your shoulders. We should probably do this on the porch so I don’t get hair everywhere.”

Jon turned around and left the room, heading for the bathroom door to get a towel. Martin stood up and carried a chair out onto the small porch outside the cottage. Jon was already there, waiting. 

“I’ve never cut hair before, never mind with a knife,” Martin said. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously while Jon sat down and arranged the towel around his neck.”

“I just want it gone, I don’t care how it looks.” Jon bit his lip, slightly regretting the last bit. He did not particularly want to be stuck with a bad haircut on top of every other problem. 

“Alright”

Martin gathered up a handful of Jon’s hair. It was past his shoulders, black streaked with grey.

“Here goes nothing…” he said quietly, sawing about four inches of it off with the knife.

Jon had his eyes closed the entire time. It was almost frightening, to feel the cold blade of the knife against the back of his neck, even though he also felt Martin’s cool, soft hands brushing through his hair and lightly touching his skin. The sensation of his touch lingered as the kiss Martin had planted on his forehead a few days ago had. 

Jon twisted his own hands in his lap, feeling the bones under his skin and the rough scar tissue from the burns and worm scars. Almost all of Martin’s scars were on his back and left shoulder, unlike Jon’s which covered his whole body. They just made the pain worse, made it harder to move, and yet were only a fraction of the pain he had gone through. 

Martin was so, so soft. He was big and round, a head taller than Jon and a sharp contrast to his sharp, stiff, thin body. The two of them had been sharing the bed in the safe house, as both of them refused to let the other sleep on the couch or the floor instead. Jon had in fact found a camp bed folded up in the closet, but after he had spent one night cuddling Martin (after martin was long asleep) there was no going back.

Martin’s strong hands brushed down Jon’s shoulders, leaving a pleasant pressure and a sense of his cool hands behind. 

“I did my best,” he sighed. 

Jon opened his eyes and touched the top and sides of his head, pausing as his fingers touched Martin’s. 

“It’s very short,” he said quietly. 

“Yes well,” Martin moves his hands away from Jon’s. “It was uneven so I cut it shorter and then I cut it too short again. It’s pretty choppy in the back.”

Jon rubbed the back of his head, feeling the rough layers of short hair the knife had left there. The feeling was oddly satisfying. “It’s perfect.”

“Do you need a mirror?” Martin was slightly nervous, moving way from him. Jon missed the feeling of Martin so close to him. 

“I can use the one in the bathroom later.” Jon stood up and turned around to face Martin, still lightly touching the edges of his hair “Thank you.” He stepped into Martin’s chest and hugged him. 

Martin let out a little gasp before he wrapped his soft self around Jon, just as Jon had been wanting. He was so absorbed in the hug he didn’t even notice the light kiss Martin planted on one of his new cowlicks. 


	4. cUdDlEs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is so touch starved

Jon was awake. 

He was always awake late at night. It was too terrifying to go to sleep, because then he would dream. Even with Martin there, which made it much better than before, he still had constant nightmares. 

Martin was curled up, facing away from Jon and snoring quietly. Jon was sitting on the edge of the bed, tired of just laying there and unsure if he would wake up Martin if he cuddled him. 

Jon sighed and lay back down, tucking himself in bed. Martin made a soft humming sound and curled closer around himself. Jon reached up and lightly touched his shoulder. 

Jon could swear that the temperature had just dropped several degrees. He sat up and looked outside. It was foggy, not a strange thing for their location. Martin always stayed closer to Jon when it was foggy. 

Jon suddenly realized that Martin was having a nightmare, knowledge twisted into his brain along with a flash of static. 

“Martin?” He whispered, getting only another quiet humming sound in response. “Are you okay?” 

Martinsat bolt upright with a gasp. He had been crying in his sleep, Jon realized with a start. There was tear tracks on his face. He looked wildly around, his eyes a blank grey instead of their normal pale blue. 

“Martin!” Jon reached for him as Martin looked wildly around, unable to find him.

“Jon? Jon it’s cold here…” Martin gasped, finally finding his hands and pulling them both to his chest. 

Jon carefully pulled his hands away from Martin, who reached for him again, still unable to see, and wrapped his arms around martin. 

“It’s okay, I’m here. What can you see?”

Martin let out a soft pained gasp of laughter. “You. I can see you.”

“Good” Jon pulled back from Martin and reached up to his face, wiping away the new tears trickling down his cheeks. His eyes were clear now, looking at Jon with an odd mix of pain and love. 

Martin really loved him. Loved  _ him _ , the mess of a man he was. And Jon, well Jon was slowly realizing he loved him back. 

“Close your eyes.” Jon whispered. 

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?”

Martin closes his eyes and nodded. 

Jon stares at his face for a few seconds, taking in his long eyelashes, his full lips and white hair. 

He leaned closer to him, studying the spray of freckles across his nose. 

Then he kissed him, slow and sweet and light.

Martin reached up and tangled his fingers in Jon’s hair, Jon’s arms draped over his shoulders for the fleeting, perfect moment of a kiss. 

Jon broke away from him, turning his face away and looking down. 

“Hey,” Martin said quietly, taking his chin in his hand and tipping Jon’s face towards him. “What I told you in the Lonely… I really meant it.”

Jon nodded, still refusing to look at him. Martin pressed his forehead against Jon’s. 

“Can I kiss you again?” he asked. 

Jon nodded and Martin kissed him again, lightly, and not quite as long as either of them would have liked, because Martin reached up to Jon and touched his face to find tears. 

“Why are you crying? Jon?” 

Jon just shook his head and buried his face in Martin’s chest, the silent tears turning into full on sobs. 

“Nobody cared, Martin.” he was gasping for air between sobs. “I couldn’t help it. I-1 can’t. You were the only one, the o-only one who didn’t tr-try to hurt me in so-some way. They all hated me, a-and you were so far from me…” 

Martin could only silently stroke his hair as he sobbed. 

“Both of us, we were so alone,” Martin’s voice sounded blank somehow, empty. 

“T-the world is full of k-knives and they are p-pointed at me.” Jon’s voice was muffled, his face pressed into Martin’s shirt. “Please, just-just hold me a-and never let go. I-I haven’t been touched gently in so long.”

“I won’t, I promise I will never let go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is going to have a lot more angst then I originally planned, my friends.


	5. the boys become Cat Dads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the ever illusive neighbor has a cat for them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry not sorry :)  
> come find me on tumblr at two-am-art!

The two of them were abruptly woken by a steady, constant pounding on the front door. Jon sat up and immediately grabbed for the tape recorder on the bedside table, begging for it to not be on. Martin rolled halfway onto his side and looked at his watch. 5:30am. 

“They’re safe,” Jon said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “What time is it?

“Five thirty in the morning,” Martin mumbled, reaching for the blanket to pull it over his head. 

“I thought you were a morning person.”

“Not when someone is knocking on the door at this hour. Do you want me to get it?”

“I would like you to come with me.” Jon stood up, leaning against the wall as he rubbed his hand through his choppily cut hair. “It’s probably the neighbor.”

“Does she ever sleep?” Martin sat up and pushed his hair back out of his face.

“I’m honestly not sure.”

Martin got up and walked towards the front door, Jon close behind him. 

Through the window he could see the silhouette of the neighbor, a woman who had visited twice before when he was asleep, once in the very early morning and once around midnight. She was wearing a bulky jacket and had very short hair. Martin opened the door and blinked at her several times. 

“Good morning!” she said. 

“It’s 5am.” Martin responded. “I should be in bed right now. Jon fell asleep an hour ago.”

“Oh is it? I didn’t realize.” She glanced around him to Jon, who was very clearly exhausted. “Hello, Jon. Nice to see you again. I have a gift for you two.” 

“Again?” Jon said. Last time she had brought food over, the first time she visited she had told them that they were welcome in her field to visit the cows again and she had given him half of a baguette. 

“More food?” Martin asked. 

“Not quite.” She set down a heavy bag she was holding and reached into it, pulling out a can and handing it to Martin. He turned it over in his hands, frowning. 

“Cat food?”

She nodded, smiling, before reaching into her jacket and pulling out a ruffled black and orange kitten and proudly handing it to Jon. 

“A cat?” Jon and Marin both spoke at the same time. 

“Mine had kittens and they’re old enough. You two seem like good parents. Take good care of your daughter.” she waved to them, and walked away whistling towards the road. 

Jon and Martin stared at each other, Martin still holding the can of cat food and Jon holding a confused kitten. 

“We have a cat,” Jon said. 

“We have a cat,” Martin said back. 

The cat meowed and wiggled around in Jon’s hands, trying to get to a more stable position in his grip. They both looked down at her. 

“What are we going to name her?” Martin asked. 

Jon and the cat stared at each other, Jon’s eyes bright green and the cat’s amber. 

“Let’s actually go inside,” Jon said, tucking the cat into his arms. “And not just stand in the doorway.” 

The kitten was standing on the kitchen table, purring much louder then her tiny body seemed to be able to hold. Jon absently scratched her head, as she leaned all two pounds of her weight into his hand. 

“What are we going to name her?” Marin asked.

Jon stared at the cat. She purred and reached up, batting at his glasses chain. 

Jon reached up and spun one of the beads around in his hand. He had found the glasses chain under a table in the archive room. Under  _ the  _ table, scarred with axe marks and strange twisting lines. 

An image flashed into his head, a tall woman with long dark hair and a kind smile and cat eye glasses with a beaded chain, blurring into static before reforming into a short woman with blonde hair and dark lipstick and a slightly too wide smile. A blurry distorted image of a pair of cat eye glasses with a beaded chain, flying through the air and tumbling under the table, frame twisting and lenses shattering. 

“Sasha.” he said, quietly. “We should name her Sasha.”

Martin’s face paled. “Why Sasha?”

“She looks like her.” Jon twisted his- _ Sasha’s  _ glasses chain around in his hands. 

“We don’t  _ know  _ what Sasha looked like.” Martin snapped. “Only the  _ thing  _ that pretended to be her.” 

“ _ I _ know what she looked like.” the beads twisted faster in Jon’s scarred hands, as the kitten smacked at his fingers.

“I can’t remember what my BEST FRIEND I had for YEARS looked like, can’t REMEMBER HER VOICE or HOW SHE DRESSED or what her FAVORITE COLOR was.”

More static in Jon’s mind, before a faint flash of lavender flashed into his head along with an image of Sasha wearing the same color dress with a swirly skirt. 

“Her favorite color was lavender she liked long skirts and colorful beaded jewelry and too much eyeliner and she had cat eye glasses and black hair all down her back she put it into a messy bun and she was tall but wore high heels anyway.” Jon gasped and looked up at Martin, his eyes glowing with green light. “She loved books and jasmine tea and… and cats.” 

The kitten started to climb up Jon’s arm, attempting to run her face on his chin. 

“Sasha…” Marin said, reaching out a hand. The kitten wandered up to him, still purring, and rubbed her face on his hand. “Oh god,” Martin whispered. “She’s purring so loud, Jon.”

The kitten paused in her purring to look up at Martin, the tip of her tongue sticking out of her mouth. Martin carefully rubbed one of his fingers carefully along her fuzzy chin as her whole body vibrated with purring. 

“She’s so soft,” Martin whispered, bundling the kitten into his arms. “Sasha. I think I like that.” he held up the kitten in front of him. “How do you like it? Sasha?”

Sasha made a soft mewling sound and wiggled around, trying to get back to him. Martin pulled her back to his chest where she started to get comfortable inside his bathrobe. His eyes were watering.

“What did Sasha look like? Can you draw her?”

“Martin…” Jon reached out a hand then stopped, frozen. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. How about we go into the living room? There might be some embers in the fireplace, and I think you left your notebook in there.”

* * *

Jon sat cross legged on the couch, trying to draw as the cat chased his pen and Martin started a fire in the fireplace. Jonathan Sims was a man of few talents, and drawing was one of them. He carefully worked on the drawing of Sasha James, drawing tiny circles for beads on the glasses chain and the pen she normally had tucked in her bun. Meanwhile, Sasha the cat gave up on his pen and settled for his shoelaces. 

“Here.” Jon handed Martin his notebook, nervously waiting for a reaction. He didn't share his drawings with people. 

“That’s her?” Martin’s voice was trembling slightly. 

“Yes,” Jon quietly cursed not knowing how to let other people See too, in the way Eli-Jonah could. 

“The kitten does look like her.” Martin said after a long, long silence. 

“We’re going to keep her safe.” Jon said, picking her up and Lying back on the couch, placing the cat on his chest. “I couldn't Keep Sasha safe, so she has to be.” he whispered the last part, unsure if Martin heard it. Martin did, and bit his lip as he looked down at the drawing. He couldn’t quite tell if Sasha was smiling or frightened. 

* * *

“I think we’re fathers now.” Jon said, lightly stroking the cat’s head as she purred. His voice sounded thick and choked, like he was near tears. 

“Oh god, we really are.” Martin said “once, a long time ago, I thought we could get married, maybe adopt a kid and a dog.”

“Why not a cat?” Jon was full on crying now. 

“I’m allergic, actually.” 

“No… really?” Jon hugged the kitten to his chest. She let out a small sound of protest. 

“Yeah, but they’re so amazing. I can’t bear to be away from them.” Martin sniffed. “I’m not crying too, actually. It's the allergies.”

Jon let out a combination of a laugh and sob. “I’m not ready to be a father,” he gasped, scratching under the kitten’s chin. 

“I’m not either.” Martin stood up and climbed onto the couch with Jon, cuddling around him and the cat. “Together we make a whole parent. Most of a whole parent” he sniffed again as the cat lightly tapped her nose against his. 

They fell asleep on the couch with the cat cuddled across both of their chests, purring up a storm. 


End file.
